


The Van Called Voltron

by Apothescarie



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: ADHD Lance, Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Domestic Life AU, F/M, Family Drama, Foster Care, Found Family, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Hawaiian Hunk, Hurt/Comfort, Korean Keith, M/M, Multi, Mystery/Thriller, Non accurate depictions of how foster care works, Nonbianary Pidge, On Hiatus, Orphans, Rag Tag Adopted Family AU, Recreational Drug Use, Team as Family, latino lance, trust building
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-07
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-07-22 01:33:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7413238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apothescarie/pseuds/Apothescarie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fostercare is mentally and physically taxing for 16-year-old Katie "Pidge Gunderson" Holt. On a night months ago at NASA, their older brother and father go missing, and with nowhere to go, child services places them into foster care. Pidge yearns to find their family again while house hopping every month, practically ignoring the surrogate families they are placed with as they piece together the mystery of where their father and brother have gone. The beginning of July is no different than the beginning of every other month- but their new guardian, Takashi Shirogane, is more accommodating then Pidge expects. (Adopted Family AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. July 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! As you can see from the summary, this is an adopted family AU. I'll spare you all the information and just jump right in! ;^) I hope you enjoy~

Friday, July 1, was the beginning of a new month, and with a new month came a new house, a new family, a new room, new new new... Pidge wasn't looking for new, they thought decisively as they wadded another bundle of socks into the corner of their suitcase, they were just looking to go home-- to their _real_ home with their _real_ family...

An agitated grumble rose in Pidge's throat as they stood, pulling their luggage up with them. As they made it across the threshold and into the living room where Mr. and Mrs. Landry lounged with coffee mugs, the slam of a car door blatantly echoed out front of the house. They audibly sighed without really meaning to, blowing their bangs right out of their eyes. 

"Sounds like your ride is here." Mr. Landry confirmed over the rim of his Captain America mug, eyes never breaking contact with the newspaper in his opposite hand. Pidge didn't say anything; they thought about responding, really, but the newspaper had caught their eyes, and they were busy staring at it. 

Mr. Landry shook the paper to straighten it from drooping forward in his grip, looking up when he realized that Pidge had failed to move or speak, effectively snapping them from their daze. 

"...Katie?" He prompted in a soft, monotonous tone. They tore their gaze away from the 'Missing NASA Employees' article, just barely catching sight of Mrs. Landry sweeping up to their side in a long elegant silk robe.

"Awww, don't be so hard on her, Robert. Katie's probably scared out of her mind..." The older woman leaned down to pull their foster child into her skinny, boney arms. 

Outside, the child services car honked, and Pidge was almost thankful for it as they broke out of their awkward stalemate of a hug. They were quite positive that Melissa Landry's embrace had only been a ploy to give her sharp perfume as long as it took to imprint into Pidge's DNA. 

"Ooohhhhhh..." Melissa cooed, ruffling Pidge's hair and straightening the collar of their sweater dotingly. "I'll walk you out."

The two followed the length of the foyer to the front door, only lagging at the resistance of Pidge's suitcase wheels in the off-white rug underfoot. Melissa swung the mahogany door outward, blinding Pidge momentarily before their Hellish Taxi came into view, rumbling away in the drive like some great black beast. Mrs. Landry was smiling big and bright as she waved to the chauffeur (who didn't so much as glance to acknowledge her, mind you), but they couldn't help but see this as the behavior of a woman who was eager to wash their hands of their foster child. 

"Goodbye, Katie! Good luck out there!" Bingo, right on the mark. Pidge only caught the slightest view of Mrs. Landry's luxurious silk robe before the heavy door closed between them, and they were alone on the stoop. They took a steadying breath and stepped off of the porch and into the blazing sun, effectively feeling bad for whatever sorry sap foster kid came to this house next.

The Child Services worker didn't bother to greet Pidge when they loaded up the backseat and slid in, clicking their belt buckle into place. In silence, the car backed out of the driveway and onto the road. At first, Pidge did what they always did, and observed. It was their biggest pass time and their best asset. They watched their fingertips trace the stitching in the dark leather seat, and their feet brush the scrappy carpet panels nestled between the front and back rows. The clouds and trees rolled by, but their whimsical blur could not keep Pidge's attention for long. They took to staring at the driver's forehead in the rearview, yearning to see the man's eyes so they stopped being some strange entity driving a portable liminal space, and fell back into the realm of humanity with everyone else. 

Speak of the devil, the driver tilted his head up and into the mirror-- but Pidge's curiosity and excitement popped and withered like a balloon when all they saw staring back at them were a pair of reflective aviators.

"Here," he said, reaching over the console and into the passenger seat as they rolled to a stop at an intersection, "I almost forgot."

A manilla folder sailed across the gap, landing with a graceful slap on the seat between Pidge and their suitcase. They perked up as they slid the folder into their lap, running their palm across the cover in anticipation. If they were forced to somehow choose their favorite part of their unsavory existence in foster care, they would undoubtedly give these manilla folders an enthusiastic thumbs up. With every move came a new folder, and each one contained all sorts of information about their new hosts. It felt good to have a one-up in these situations; a sliver of precious power in an otherwise powerless life. For Pidge, these folders were security. (And sometimes they entertained the daydream of being a private investigator, and that these folders contained their newest case...)

Without any further hesitation, they flipped it open and began perusing the contents with vigor. Paper-clipped in the top left corner was a polaroid portrait. The man in the photo had an angular jaw, a gentle smile, and a big horizontal scar just across the bridge of his nose. A patch of white bangs hung down across his forehead, and a shaved undercut peeked out from where sideburns would've been. A peculiar looking man, indeed.

"Takashi Shirogane..." Pidge murmured the name, stroking their thumb across where it was printed on the sheet.

He was a war vet, 25 years old-- _that young?!_ \--currently a mechanic living in an apartment complex in Glendale, California with three others. 

Huang Shirogane, 18, male, adopted by Takashi.  
Lance Shirogane, also 18, also male, also adopted by Takashi.

 _Quiznak._ He was the adopting type, then? That spelled danger for Pidge. With a grimace, they shuffled to the back paper in the stack, expecting to find yet another 18 year old male who had been adopted by Takashi. However, they were pleasantly surprised. 

Allura Altea, 27 years old, female, housemate. Just a housemate? Not a wife, a girlfriend?

Pidge didn't realize they were going to be pulling up to the apartment complex soon until they were stopped at the gated security entrance. _...A gate?_ Their mind was reeling at this point. Some rag tag "family" was living in a fancy as fuck expensive apartment complex? 

_What have I gotten into?_

Their stomach cinched; they didn't feel good about this place, even though the outside radiated a pleasant normality. 

The car jolted softly to a stop. The driver put the stick into Park and turned over his shoulder to look at Pidge, motioning for the folder. "See you next month." 

Pidge visibly frowned. That was a dismissal if they'd ever heard one, and boy had they heard their fair share from unsatisfied conservative foster couples. Against their better judgement, Pidge removed themselves and their belongings from the car, tucking the folder under their arm as they marched up onto the sidewalk before the apartment complex. They weren't supposed to take those manilla folders, but they always did, just for the small thrill of resisting. 

Mr. Mysterious Chauffeur-Man drove away then, and they hoped he could feel their eyes burning holes in the back of his head as he went.

Okay. Building A...Room 423.

They took a breath and pivoted to face the building before them, having to shade their eyes as they looked up and up and up at the endless balconies filled with tropical plants bending lazily over the railing. Fancy was an understatement, they thought as they braved the four flights of stairs while hefting their luggage in their arms, but why couldn't they at least install an elevator?

They peered into every doorway until they came across 423. With a small twinge of hope, they realized that this was the first door they'd seen that was pleasantly decorated with a welcome mat, wreath, and potted plants standing guard beside it. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad after all...

 

Correction. It was bad. _SO_ bad. Bad with a capital B.

Pidge had had some galactic epiphany that this place was off when they arrived in that car-- they should've listened to their gut! 

When they had finally swallowed down their lingering fear, they lifted their fisted hand and knocked and--

no one answered. 

They waited, tapping their foot, arms crossed. Waited and waited and knocked once again. No one came so they sidled up to the door and stood as high as they could on their toes to see through the peephole, but they were too short to make it. They knocked again, even louder than before, and finally gave up, pressing their ear to the chrome and finally gleaning some distant shouting. Still, no one came to answer. So, Pidge being stubborn, but also being anxious, they tentatively put their hand to the nob and shouted, "I'm coming in!", before testing the lock. This _was_ the right place, right?!

Their heart stopped for the few seconds it took for the door to swing inward-- and then it stopped for another solid minute, because the first view that greeted their unsuspecting eyes was FLAMES.

"-the FUCK, LANCE! _LANCE_ , YOU CAN'T PUT WATER ON A-"

 _FOOF!_ The flames jumped higher off of what Pidge assumed was the oven as a skinny brown teenager ran forward into battle, sloshing a plastic pink pail of water onto the conflagration. They lanky boy squealed, positively _chucking_ the bucket and scampering away.

"--grease fire..."

"Why didn't you say that ahead of time?!"

"Why are you such an idiot?!"

_"Both of you knock it off and help me!"_

The third voice in the argument startled Pidge out of their stupor. It was a deep and commanding voice, a voice that instantly had the words "War Veteran" flashing behind their eyelids. Curiosity got the better of them and they stepped one foot cautiously over the threshold, leaning in at a forty-five degree angle to view the action in relative safety.

Their body then decided that that safety was compromised as three men came sprinting into the kitchen at full speed, making warrior cries and wielding...blankets? Sopping wet blankets? Even though the three of them were at least ten feet away, Pidge still jumped back across the doorway with a surprised yelp, their heart slamming in their chest.

_What level of hell did I just walk into?!_

The loudest hissing Pidge had ever lived to hear burst forth from the interior, only confirming their descent into the fiery abyss of the underworld more strongly. The cacophony was followed by a flash of orange light that flickered out moments later. Soon it was just smoke, dense black smoke filling the entryway and spilling outside onto the walkway, blurring the apartment from view entirely. Just as Pidge's eyes started to sting, they heard a voice.

"Outside, boys, OUT, let's go!"

The voice grew louder, accompanied by coughing, until the three people they knew to be Huang, Lance, and Takashi appeared before them out of the soot, waving their faces and covering their mouths.

The small moment it took for each of them to realize that Pidge was standing there, pale as a ghost, felt like an eternity had come and gone. All they could do was blink at each other until the tallest of the three wedged himself between the other two, wheezing once before clearing his throat. He extended a prosthetic hand and flashed a brilliant smile.

"Uhhhh-- hi! You must be Katie! My name's Shiro."


	2. July 1; Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI SORRY I KNOW ITS BEEN A LONG TIME BUT A BUNCH OF SHIT HAPPENED AND BOY IT SUCKED A LOT. ANYWAY I WONT KEEP YOU FROM THIS ANY LONGER--- THANK YOU TO ALL THE PEOPLE WHO HAVE BEEN ROOTING FOR ME TO GET THIS DONE. I HOPE YOU'RE ALL STILL AROUND AND YOU'RE STILL JUST AS EAGER ABOUT THIS AS ME. I LOVE YOU GUYS SO SO MUCH. YOU'VE BEEN KEEPING ME GOING AND I APPRECIATE THAT MORE THAN YOU CAN IMAGINE. BONE ATROPHY I HOPE YOU ENJOY ((fair warning i did NOT beta read this at all i was too excited))

“So, uhhh--” 

“Pidge.”

“Right,” Shiro nodded at himself as Pidge reminded him of their preferred name, the motion confirming that he was making a mental note of it, “Pidge. I’ll remember that from now on.” 

He hefted yet another charred blanket into a black garbage bag on the opposite side of the island, flakes of burnt fleece drifting off of the fabric from his manhandling and dappling the floor in gray. The silence bubbled comfortably between them for a few moments as the enigma that was Takashi Shirogane forced the blanket down into the can with all of his weight. Pidge idly streaked lines in the condensation of the glass of water Shiro had offered them, not entirely sure what to say. They’d been here for maybe thirty minutes at most and the whole experience had, for all their extensive vocabulary, muted them into an awed silence.

The fire department had come and gone, sharing impressed congratulations with the Shirogane’s on putting out the fire before it’d gotten out of hand. The only casualties in the whole debacle were three blankets, the oven, and part of the wall. Not too shabby, considering. Besides the gaping hole between the counter tops where the stove used to be, and the long lick of char just above that spot on the wall, everything seemed to be okay. It definitely could’ve been a whole lot worse, but it was, mildly put, still one hell of a first impression for a new foster parent. 

Shiro finally straightened up from his hunched posture, placing his hands on his hips as he dipped his head back and stretched his neck. The casualness of the motion suggested to Pidge that he was about to say something, or rather, ask something. They watched over the top of their glasses as he sighed, his eyes downcast to the floor as if he was puzzling together what he was going to say. Just as he inhaled, Pidge slumped forward into the counter, resting their head on their arm and dragging their finger down the glass again sideways.

“Don’t worry about it, Mr. Shirogane. I won't tell Social Services that you almost burned down your house the moment I showed up.”

This made the man sputter, his eyes widening as he ripped his gaze from the floor to his foster kid. His body visibly shook with his short, confused, jerky motions. He obviously had no idea how to react in that moment, his brain doing some kind of physical reboot. His laughter made them look up from the lopsided face they’d drawn, dripping off the side of their glass in melting beads of cold sweat. His brows were furrowed in concern but the smile on his face was full and wide.

“What? Pidge- no, I was going to ask if you were okay--” 

They made eye contact then, Pidge’s chest fluttering with something unfamiliar. It must’ve put a sour expression on their face because Shiro’s gait softened into something like unease. 

“What?” He asked after a moment, making their pulse thump painfully in the side of their neck, anxiety speeding up in their veins.

“Ah- nothing I was just...was just thinking, that’s all.” The lie slipped out as easily as they always did, having the desired effect at pacifying that look. He nodded acceptingly, glazing over their reaction entirely as he reached down to tersely tie the knot on the garbage bag.

“I’m sorry about all this.” He said after a moment, the genuity of his words ringing in Pidge’s ears. “I _thought_ that that saying mothers always told their kids about not burning the house down while they were away was just a joke,” part of Shiro’s cheek concaved as he was obviously biting it, throwing a look over Pidge at the two boys sitting at the tall, round dining table behind them. The garbage bag found itself over Shiro’s shoulder as he headed for the door, the last of his savage, utterly _dad_ comment leaving them all company as he slipped out. 

“You trust two _teenage boys_ to make some lunch for themselves and somehow they manage to mess up _Bagel Bites_ that bad...”

“I resent that!” Shouted the wiry hipster-looking one, Lance, from where he sat slouched over his phone on the table. “It isn’t _my_ fault those things are so damn _flammable.”_ And then he added in a softer, sulkier tone as he curled further in on himself, pouting, “Plus I already said I was sorry…”

The bulkier teen sitting beside Lance piped up then, a smug smirk having crossed his face like he was ready to drop some serious shade. “Well, it _was_ your fault for not reading the instructions and trying to put _vegetable oil_ on the pan--”

“Vegetable oil?” Pidge couldn’t help but butt in, feeling a whir of apprehension slide down into their stomach at the questionable sanity of the two sitting behind them. “You let him do that?”

“How was I supposed to know he was that much of an idiot?”

Lance sat up straighter at that, his brows furrowed and hand twisted at the wrist in a gesture that mocked being wounded. Before he could lash back to protect his quickly crumbling masculinity, Shiro had returned and was clapping the dirt off of his hands with a playful grin pulling his mouth up at the corners.

“Relax, guys, it was an accident. It’s okay. Just-- Lance-- don’t ever use the oven again without supervision.”

The wiry teen cringed further, crossing his arms poutily but saying nothing in reply, leaving his perfectly nonplussed body language to do that for him. 

The three teens eyed each other warily for a moment, Pidge twisted over the back of their bar stool to face them eye to eye for the first time. Shiro sauntered around the island to stand beside Pidge, placing a hand on the counter just beside their shoulder. Pidge almost thought they saw Shiro make the deliberate decision to hold the counter instead of touch them without their permission, involuntarily taking note of it. 

“Now that that mess is all over,” The man spoke up, crossing his feet at the ankles as he leaned back against the granite countertop of the island, reaching behind Pidge to grab their untouched glass of water and giving them a side wink as he took a sip, “I think it’s time we got some introductions out of the way. Boys?”

“We aren’t _boys_ \--” Lance pitched, his voice cracking ironically. This made Pidge putter a disbelieving laugh, to which his Clearly Offended Face returned.

“Uhh, I don’t know, Lance, I like to think of myself as a boy-” The chunkier one said, and immediately got an elbow to the ribs for it.

“Shut up, Hunk!”

“I mean, if there's something you want to tell us, I promise I’ll always suppor-” The second elbowing was painful enough to let the rest of the sentence snuff out in a wheeze.

Pidge jumped in, an immediate thought springing up from the haze, “I thought your name was-”

“Huang? Yeah, it is. Hunk’s just a nickname.” Somehow the added finger guns made them crack a smile. 

“But he takes it very seriously.” 

With hands victoriously on his hips, Hunk leaned across the table at Lance and crooned, “Yes. I do.”

Shiro butt in here as the two teens continued to bicker before them, “Miss Allura is my housemate. You’ll get to meet her tonight. She’s an ER nurse, so her shifts are kind of ridiculous, but she’ll be back before too late!” 

“What on earth happened in here?!” 

His brows pulled in as he put a hand on his face in defeat. “Or too early,” he muttered.

“Allura!” Lance shouted, throwing his arms up happily as the dark skinned woman crossed the threshold in immaculate white clothes. When her glare cut him from across the room he shrunk in on himself, returning to his phone game silently. 

For a moment the woman was frozen there, her stone cold expression collecting all the information she needed from the charred kitchen and missing stove. Pidge couldn’t even dare to look at her, honestly, eyes downturned as they waited for the inevitable shouting to come. There was a heavy, drawn out sigh from Allura, and Pidge flinched as the nurse opened her mouth-

“I told you not to let Lance use the stove, Takashi.” 

Pidge sputtered a laugh they didn’t mean to let escape; surprised by the soft tone in her voice, but also- Takashi? 

Shiro made some kind of noise, eyes flickering to Pidge for just a moment at their bubble of sound. “....You did. I’m sorry. I’ll clean all this up, don’t worry.”

Allura raised one perfect eyebrow, tucking a long, kinky strand of ivory hair behind her ear as she finally caught sight of little Pidge, tucked with their knees up to their chest on the bar stool.

“We’ll talk about this more later,” She assured, then smiling softly as she strode forward to meet the foster child, extending a hand in greeting.

“You must be Katie, yes? I’m very happy to finally meet you. Please make yourself comfortable here- I’m sorry all these children-” all of the men in the room choked- “terrorized your welcome.”

“She goes by Pidge.” Shiro informed softly, carding his prosthetic fingers across his scalp.

“Pidge.” Allura said it with a simultaneous nod, her piercing blue eye contact sending a strange thrill right down into Pidge’s stomach. Aside from Shiro’s mention of the pronoun “she”....Pidge was feeling strangely safe. 

With a smile so dazzling it could take down planes, Miss Allura ruffled Pidge’s hair before skirting passed to her bedroom door, mere feet away, “What a sweet name.” 

 

“That went a lot smoother than I expected, honestly.” Lance murmured later on that night, feet tucked underneath him on the far end of the white leather couch. Everything was white in this apartment. White walls, white couch, white granite, white stools. They wondered briefly how everything was kept so pristine, but remembered the clean pressed lines of Allura’s slacks and figured that answered that question.

“I really thought she was gonna gut us.”

Pidge looked up from their NASA app at that remark, a slight mask of concern shifting over their face. “Is she-?”

“Oh,” The teen shook his head vigorously, though his eyes remained locked down on his twitter feed, “No. She’s not like...crazy. Or abusive or anything. It’s just that she pays for this apartment and everything so she likes it to stay...clean. And not burned down, y’know? I mean obviously if you were paying buku to live somewhere you really wouldn’t throw a torch in the place at the first opportunity.” He could sense that perhaps he’d lost the foster kid somewhere in that whole spiel, and simply said, “She’s the best yell-er I’ve ever met.” 

Pidge nodded, thinking that having a practically all white house was a bit too anxiety inducing to bother with. They thought of their old house up in Oregon, all beige and taupe, and bit down the sorrow sliding down the back of their tongue. 

“Is she the best at yelling, or do you just cause enough trouble to be yelled at by her?” They questioned, a coy little smirk hiding behind the words.

“Oh, it’s definitely both.” 

Lance bristled at that, but only rolled his eyes, looking over Pidge’s shoulder to where Shiro had stepped around the pale gray partition that separated the kitchen from the den. He was clad in plaid pajama pants and a simple white t-shirt, his pallid bangs pulled and pinned back. He sipped water from the rim of a glass, looking sleepy. There seemed to be a pattern with everything that moved and breathed in this place; blank. Pale. Spooky and surreal yet oddly cleansing. Minimalist. 

Pidge almost opened their mouth to say, ‘I didn’t expect you to be up’, but didn’t. They hadn’t met this man until today; didn’t know his sleeping habits. While each character in this household felt easy to read, they couldn’t make any assumptions. Not at least for another day or two; that was just the rules of a detective. Collect the evidence and _then_ make the case. 

“I don’t _always-_ ” Before the young man could finish his clearly amazing come back, his phone chimed. His eyes scanned across the screen and suddenly he was up off the couch, pulling the slate throw blanket up over his shoulders like a shawl as he waddled for the back patio door. He answered the call as the glass slid between him and his housemates, a tinny, “Hello?” 

Pidge was left alone with Shiro, then, who informally climbed over the back of the couch to sit beside them with expert balance. 

“So is Allura your girlfriend?”

He _hacked._ “No- _no_ , we’re just roommates. Housemates. Friends.”

Pidge didn’t respond to that, their eyes scanning down his rigid form beside them on the couch, staring down the center of his cup like it was the edge of the galaxy. 

“I’ve known Allura for a long time. We went to highschool together. I mean, of course, she was two years ahead of me then, but we had mutual friends and all that…”

“It was just situational, but then you kept running into each other after that. I get it.”

Shiro smiled at them and nodded, “You’re a smart kid.” The compliment hovered there for a second, not uncomfortably, before the man looked off toward where the ceiling met the wall and his expression fell to something wandering far away. 

“Yeah. Something like that. Obviously Allura went on to college, but I lived in an orphanage. At 18 they kinda just shoo you out the door if they think you’re ready, but I had nowhere to go and no money for a house or anything. So I joined the military and then _later_ , _way_ later I met Allura again and our friendship just...picked up right where it left off. I didn’t go a day without seeing her and then we just decided that splitting rent on a place would be the solution to the problem of having to get up and get ready every morning to see each other. Instead of having to fuck up my sleep schedule to hang out with her after her late shifts, she could just come home and I would already be there.” He shrugged and sipped at his glass, and Pidge stared. 

Shiro didn’t seem to notice their lingering gaze, sighing after a long gulp and then setting the cup down on the small coffee table by their feet. He seemed to come back to the present, stretching his arms over his head with a deep yawn before rubbing at his eyes. They looked away, thinking about love and what a mystery that was. Platonic or otherwise. 

“I think I’m gonna be heading to bed. You should get some rest, too, Pidge. You’ve had a long day. Lance showed you your room, right?”

They nodded and he gave a brief grin, tapping their shoulder gently with his prosthetic before standing and heading around the partition. 

“Goodnight, kiddo. Feel free to help yourself to whatever’s in the kitchen.” 

And then he was gone, and the foster child was left to lean their head back against the couch and wonder what it must be like to be so obliviously in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANKS ONCE AGAIN FOR READING SORRY EVERYTHING I TYPE IS IN ALL CAPS RIGHT NOW ITS JUST THAT IM HYPED ABOUT THIS FIC AGAIN AND I AM OVERWHELMED WITH LOVE FOR YOU GUYS THANK YOU THANK YOU

**Author's Note:**

> Bookmark, kudos, and comment! Thank you so much for your constant support. <3


End file.
